


the lamp, the nightclub singer, and the medjai

by zombeesknees



Category: The Mummy Series
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 16:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17267468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombeesknees/pseuds/zombeesknees
Summary: Ardeth Bay is in London visiting the O'Connells while working at the Egyptian Embassy. When an unexpected guest comes bearing a mythic artifact, the Medjai finds himself taking on the mantel of protector once more. Set post-The Mummy Returns. | Written for Sus many moons ago on LJ.





	the lamp, the nightclub singer, and the medjai

  
_featuring: lupita nyong'o as kath "kitty" brixton_

**LONDON, 1934**

 

“…But enough about my new exhibit,” Evy finished breathlessly, face glowing. “How goes the work at the Embassy, Ardeth?”

“And more importantly—have you found any time to explore the city?” Rick added, looking up from his steak. “Y’know, if you really want the _full_ London experience, Jonathan and I would be happy to take you out some night.”

“I’ll leave that joy in your capable hands, O’Connell,” Jonathan said hastily, sipping his wine.

“Been gambling again, huh?” Rick said shrewdly.

“Suffice it to say my face shouldn’t be out and about town for a while.”

“Oh, Jonathan,” Evy sighed. “I wish you would stop getting yourself into these scrapes; you can’t honestly expect us to drive down to the police station every weekend in perpetuity to extricate you from yet another ‘misunderstanding’…”

Ardeth Bay smiled faintly to himself, slathering butter over his bread. There was something relaxing in the chatter of his strange friends; he was so accustomed to the whistling silence of the dunes, the scorched emptiness of the desert and solitary company of only horse and horizon. He found it refreshing, even entertaining how Evelyn O’Connell and her layabout brother could natter at one another like affronted birds, ruffling their feathers while the more taciturn Rick looked on with equal parts fondness and exasperation.

“I’m so sorry, Ardeth,” Evy said finally, returning her attention across the table. “Please, do go on.”

“My work is going well,” he said placidly. “It is a great honor to be acting as an ambassador for my people. Your government is quite stubborn in acknowledging our rights, but I can be patient. And if all else fails, I brought my swords.”

Jonathan chuckled heartily at that, but Rick just raised a sardonic eyebrow at him, knowing it wasn’t entirely a jest. Sometimes displays of force were a necessary component in finally achieving peace.

“Well, if there’s any way we can help,” Evy said conscientiously. “Please don’t hesitate to ask. We owe you a great deal, after all—”

“No more than I owe you. And we are friends, Evelyn—let us not speak of debts tonight.”

She smiled, that girlish grin of unbridled delight that was one of her defining characteristics. But through the sweet kindness she exuded was a ribbon of steel, the promise that she was not the type to be easily swayed or dismissed from her chosen path. He had seen it in action—he knew the strength of it. And he knew that she had once been a princess—daughter to a line of kings his forefathers had pledged eternal devotion to—and often had to resist the urge to bow before her. Only the knowledge that she would be embarrassed by such displays kept his neck unbent. 

The dinner resumed, conversation meandering pleasantly around such topics as Rick’s newest automobile and the nightclub singer Jonathan had become smitten with. “The girl’s pure sparkle,” he enthused. “Abso-bally-lutely radiant on stage. You have to see her sing before you head back to the sandy wastes, old man.”

The dinner dishes were cleared away. Dessert—an impressive banana flambé—was just being laid out when a dramatic crash of thunder split the air.

“Good Lord!” Evy said, the chandelier overhead rattling. “This must be a storm for the history books.”

“Let’s hope Alex isn’t out in it with a lightning rod, playing mad scientist,” Rick muttered. “Did I mention that our son’s become an inventor? Caught him taking apart his radio the other day—swore he needed the transistors for something. He’s probably building a rocket in his closet.”

“Where is he? Usually he’s the first to greet me at the door.”

“He’s at a friend’s for the weekend. Rick and I needed a little time to ourselves, now that the exhibition’s finished.”

“And I’ll be firmly ensconced in my room, baby sister,” Jonathan said quickly. “Give me a bottle or two for company and you shan’t hear a peep from me. I promise you: no interruptions during your romantic weekend.”

Sensing its cue, the universe obliged: echoing from the entryway, over the tumult of the thunderstorm, came the sounds of someone frantically pounding at the front door.

“I’ll go see what the latest catastrophe is,” Rick said wearily, tossing his napkin onto the table and pushing out his chair. 

The creak of the door, followed by the amplified drumming of rain against the paved walkway. A hurried, muffled conversation, and then the clicking of footsteps returning. Rick stepped through the door—and a thoroughly drenched woman in a green dress followed close on his heels. 

Jonathan shot up in his seat. “Kitty! Speak of the devil—I was just raving about your golden pipes. What on earth are you doing here?”

“I find myself in something of a pickle, Jonathan,” the woman said in a distinctively American accent, shivering. Her rain-slicked skin was like polished obsidian; lips that had once been immaculately painted red were now trembling and smeared. Her closely shorn black hair was plastered to her skull and she clutched at a thin red coat over her wet satin dress. Dangling from one arm was a bulky bag—hardly a fashionable accessory for a nightclub chanteuse. “This your sister?”

“Yes, I’m Evelyn O’Connell,” she said brusquely. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Miss…”

“Kath Brixton, Mrs. O’Connell. And I came to see you—something’s fallen into my lap, and I was hoping you could help me with it.” She drew up the bag, unknotted the string fastening it, and pulled out—

“Oh my word,” Evy breathed, rushing around the table. “It’s absolutely stunning. May I hold it?”

“Sure. Just—whatever you do, don’t rub it.”

“Evelyn, you’re like a magpie,” Rick sighed. “You see something glittery and you just _have_ to touch it. Must I remind you about what happened when you touched a certain book—and a certain box—and a certain bracelet—”

“Oh, hush, you,” she waved at her husband as one batted at a pesky fly. “The engravings are simply extraordinary. How old is this, exactly? 8th century? 9th? And what does this say here along the base, it’s been worn almost away…”

Ardeth rose slowly from his chair. “Evelyn. Let me see that.”

She looked up, startled by his tone. It was a command that would be unquestionably obeyed. Before she even realized she was doing it, she had offered it to him.

The metal was unnaturally warm and dry to the touch, contrary to the frigid storm raging outside that had so soaked the woman carrying it. And yes, there was the faint sound of rustling inside, of something moving restlessly… “It is a passage from the Quran. ‘And for refusing to show Adam the respect deserved, Iblīs was cast out—imprisoned—and given the name Shayṭān, and those that followed him would serve mankind for all days.’ These symbols here,” he pressed a fingertip to one around the tightly closed lid. “Are wards. Seals of protection. To keep the thing inside locked away.”

“Damn, I don’t like the sound of that,” Rick muttered. “Okay, Ardeth: what the hell is it?”

“Aladdin’s lamp,” the Medjai replied. “And there is a djinn trapped inside. Not a very happy or kind one, either.”

“Jeez, where the hell were you two hours ago?” the soaked singer demanded stridently, eyes just a bit wild. Her coat gaped open and Evy gasped at the splattered red stains covering the once slinky dress.

“Is that—?”

“What’s left of Max Walton after he opened that damn thing? Yup. And lemme tell you… I don’t feel so hot either…”

Kath “Kitty” Brixton began to sway. Ardeth thrust the lamp into Evy’s startled hands and reached out just as she crumpled.

“Perhaps we should go to the library,” he suggested as calmly as he could with his arms full of the limp, unconscious woman.

****

“So Max—this guy I was seeing—shows up at my place. All excited to show me something. Pulls this out of his bag. I ask him where he got it—he hems and haws. I wasn’t happy about that and made it clear I wasn’t putting up with any guff,” Kath explained, reviving brandy in hand. “‘Alright,” he says finally. ‘I snagged it from this rich bloke over at Parkington Place. Fat cat antiquities collector.’ Now, I knew Max had done the occasional flutter. Lifted a wallet now and then—not that I approved, mind, I just thought it was mostly petty, harmless stuff. But this—this was a horse of another color. I told him he was crazy and stupid to boot. Rich men in fancy houses like their revenge—they don’t part with anything without a fight, especially something so old and valuable. But he just laughed it off—said Greenstreet was all bark and no bite. Said he wouldn’t even notice one thing missing from that pompous collection of his.”

“Wait a minute,” Evy said, cutting off the deluge of words. “Greenstreet? Phillip Greenstreet?”

“You know this man?” Ardeth asked.

“He’s incredibly wealthy; he's financed several digs and expeditions. The word is that he never reports the full extent of his finds, though. That he secretly smuggles the choicest pieces back to his mansion. He’s been a longtime patron of the museum, but no one likes him much. He’s too over-bearing and demanding; whenever he lends pieces for exhibits, he personally has to supervise their placement and lighting.”

“He’s an ass,” Rick said succinctly. “And not our biggest fan since Alex and Evy revealed that one of the pieces he lent the museum was just a reproduction.”

“And not a very good one at that. He’s not one who takes kindly to being made a fool of—”

“And he has a veritable army of bully boys,” Jonathan chimed in, brow furrowed. “I’ve seen him down at the casino, acting like a regular mob boss.”

“Boy, I sure know how to pick ‘em,” Kath sighed heavily. “I try to keep my nose clean, try to stay outta trouble, and then a man walks into my life and everything takes a nosedive…”

“Miss Brixton, why don’t we go upstairs so you can change into something dry,” Evy said conscientiously. _And not so bloody_ hung unspoken. 

“What do you know about this lamp?” Rick demanded after the library door had closed. “You said Aladdin— _the_ Aladdin?”

“After all these years, O’Connell, are you still so slow to believe in myth?”

“Me? I’ll believe anything at this point. After a couple dozen mummies I’ll believe in the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus. So? What’s the full story?”

“I am not a true authority; I know only what I have heard. That Aladdin became King of Maghreb with the help of a djinn’s magic. That a sorcerer later sent an evil djinn to attack the King, and that Aladdin defeated him by trapping him inside his lamp. And that the lamp was then hidden in a vast cave of treasure, the Cave of Wonders… We must return it—something this powerful must not be released back into the world.”

“Here’s an idea: why don’t we just toss the thing into a furnace? Melt it down to nothing?”

“Destroying the outward vessel may have little effect on the creature inside. Djinns are incredibly powerful beings.”

“Figured as much. Things are never easy with these supernatural assholes. So—where’s this mystical cave? In the middle of the desert or a giant jungle, I’m sure.”

“I will send word to my people—my tribe was tasked with guarding Hamunaptra, but there were others guarding the Cave, which must be somewhere in Maghreb—”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, old man, but your people aren’t doing such a bang-up job on the guard duty front lately,” Jonathan said. “First the mummy business, now this…”

“Three thousand years is a long time to keep watch. And it seems we underestimated the curiosity and tenacity of you English,” Ardeth said calmly. “Perhaps we have gotten soft after so many centuries. It used to be we put everyone to the sword without question…” He glanced at Rick, who must be remembering that ill-fated stand his legion made years ago—he had looked up at the cliffs as he fled into the desert. He had seen the silent sentries watching the bloodshed from on high. Perhaps he had suspected and drawn his own conclusions. If he and his men had ridden down and taken Rick O’Connell’s life then, so much would have been averted. But then again, would they have successfully thwarted Imhotep without Rick and Evelyn — without even Jonathan? 

Yes, this strange family had caused many problems. But they had proven a boon in the end. Perhaps they could once again be counted on to fight the good fight.

“I will send word immediately, through the Embassy. Ozier is there—”

“You can call him from here; the phone’s right there,” Rick said helpfully, gesturing at the desk. 

“O’Connell, my work here—it cannot be deferred.”

“Well, I’m not doing anything especially important right now,” he said casually. “I could always play courier for you—”

The library door banged open and Evy strode in with fire in her eyes. “Richard O’Connell, if you think for one moment that you’re going to gallivant off on another adventure and leave me here—”

“But, Evelyn, your exhibit—”

“Oh hang the exhibit! The museum will manage just fine without me for a couple weeks—”

“Must say, Kitty,” Jonathan said with a grin, sliding over to the woman standing uncertainly in the doorway, watching the good-natured marital bickering with wide eyes. “You look positively ravishing in that dress. It suits you much better than it ever did Evy.”

“Thanks, Jonathan,” she said absently. “…Are they always like this?”

“Mostly.”

“Funny, because when you described your sister I expected someone more… bookish. Mousy. Not outspoken and fiery.”

“Oh, Evy’s a girl of many parts. Dashed clever, too. Smartest gel I know. Curious as a cat. Show her a priceless artifact or an unknown language and she’s off like a shot.”

“Well, she can keep that blasted lamp for all I care,” Kath said with a shudder. She straightened when she realized she was being studied, glancing over to lock gazes with a pair of arresting dark eyes. It was the mysterious man with facial tattoos, dressed in unrelieved black, the dark hair streaked with gray spilling over his shoulders. “Jonathan,” she whispered. “Who is that?”

“That? Ardeth Bay, friend of ours from ages back. Course, I say friend: first time we met he almost stabbed me through with a giant curved sword. O’Connell had to threaten to blow the whole camp up before he backed off. In retrospect, of course, I see why he took such drastic measures—can’t really fault a man for his violent tactics after you’ve seen a vengeful mummy suck the life out of several blokes and bring about the ten plagues of Egypt.”

“Jonathan.”

“Mmmh?”

“When you say mummy—you mean a man all wrapped in bandages? Thousands of years old? Technically dead?”

“That’s right.”

“You knew things like mummies were real and you never said?” she snapped angrily. 

“Would you’ve believed me, Kitty?”

“Well—no, but—” She sighed heavily. “My head’s aching abominably. I think I need to sit down again.”

“Oh, Miss Brixton, I’m sorry,” Evy said. “What can I get you? Some tea?”

“You Brits and your tea,” she muttered. “I’d rather some—”

“Whisky’s more appropriate, time like this,” Rick said knowingly, whisking the bottle off the sideboard. Thank God for fellow American expats. 

“So,” she said once her glass had been refilled. “What now?”

“Obviously we have to get this lamp back where it belongs,” Evy said firmly. “Ardeth, we’ll pack a bag and head straight over to the Embassy to meet Ozier. You’re absolutely right: your work here is too important for you to leave now. But you can leave it all in our hands.”

“And while we’re gone, if you wouldn’t mind staying here when you’re not at the Embassy; hold the fort down, so to speak,” Rick said, having already relented to his wife’s demands. “Just make sure the place doesn’t explode while we’re gone.”

“I’ll keep an eye on your son—”

“Alex can take care of himself—I’m more worried about Jonathan.”

“Oh, haha.”

“I mean it, Jonathan: no parties while we’re gone, no joyriding in my new car, and absolutely no illegal activities that could land you in jail. I’ll have enough on my plate worrying about evil djinns and secret caves.”

“And Miss Brixton, I think it would perhaps be best if you stayed, too,” Evy went on firmly. “Just until we return.”

“I can’t possibly—”

“A very good idea,” Ardeth agreed. 

“Can’t have Greenstreet and his men getting their hands on you,” Jonathan thirded.

“But I—”

“Or the police, given the circumstances. I mean, with what happened at your apartment. Doubt they’d believe you when you told them about an evil djinn coming out of a lamp.”

“Alright, yes, but—”

“Miss Brixton,” Ardeth began.

“Okay, enough with the Miss Brixton,” she snapped. “Call me Kath.”

“…Kath. How exactly did you avoid your friend’s fate?”

She blinked. “…I screamed ‘Stop!’”

“And the djinn did?”

The moment was fuzzy at the edges, no doubt from shock, but certain things were in hyper focus. Like the grin on the giant, bearded man’s face and how it had stiffened into a frozen rictus at her scream. The way his legs and arms had begun to stretch and flatten, losing their solid shape and becoming almost gaseous, until he was streaming smoke-like back into the narrow spout of the lamp. He had laughed when he had first materialized, when he snapped his fingers and exploded Max like an overripe tomato, but in returning to his tiny prison he had been silent. That had been almost more unnerving.

“Yes,” she said quietly, hugging her arms. “And then he was sucked back into the lamp.”

“Does that mean something?” Rick asked, catching the expression on Ardeth’s face.

“There has always been power in words—you know this, Evelyn, firsthand. Words can bring the dead back to life; can banish evil or raise armies. Usually, it is the words themselves that contain the power, and so some words are locked away in books that require keys. But sometimes—very rarely—someone can put power into any word. Centuries ago we called such people sorcerers. High priests. Magicians.”

“I have no idea what you’re going on about,” Kath said. “Can’t you just speak plainly?”

“You have power in your tongue,” he obliged. “You were able to control the djinn, return it to the lamp, because you put total command into your voice. Perhaps it is also what makes you such a talented singer, as Jonathan was saying.”

“He might be onto something there,” Jonathan agreed. “When you sing a ballad, Kitty, there isn’t a single person in the room who doesn’t fall in love with you. And when you sing a lament there isn’t a dry eye in the house. I’ve never seen anyone else control an audience quite the way you do.”

“You’re saying I can do magic?” She snorted. “That’s preposterous—”

“As preposterous as men trapped in lamps, who can kill in the blink of an eye?”

“…You’ve got me there.”

“Then it’s settled,” Evy said firmly, striding over to a bookcase and pulling a small lockbox from a shelf. She set the lamp inside, locked it with a satisfying _clonk_ , and clipped the key onto the elaborate charm bracelet around her left wrist. “We should be off—no doubt time is of the essence. Miss Brixton—Kath—feel free to help yourself to anything in the house. You’re a guest now. Ardeth and Jonathan can show you around. Behave,” she added to Jonathan, pausing to kiss his cheek. “Let’s go, Rick.”

“Well,” Jonathan said, rubbing his hands together. “Shall we pick out a room for you, Kitty? We’ve got plenty to choose from. You know, my sister picked out this estate because it’s got quite the interesting history. Apparently some Baron Something-or-Other had it built to exacting specifications—something about having a prophetic dream involving astrological phenomena or some other twaddle…”

She let him loop an arm through hers and lead her back to the grand staircase, but she couldn’t resist a parting glance back at the enigmatic Ardeth standing silently beside an overflowing bookcase.

****

“Good evening, Miss Brixton.”

She jumped in her chair. “Guh! What are you—a cat? Nobody should move that quietly.”

Ardeth smiled, a brief flash of pearly teeth. “Apologies. I will try to stomp my feet in the future.”

She closed her book on her finger. “And don’t call me Miss Brixton. You sound like a schoolteacher.”

“Again, my apologies. I trust you slept well?”

“As well as can be expected.” 

“And I trust Jonathan has been attentive to your needs?”

“That’s a good word for him: attentive. I told him if he didn’t stop hovering I’d hit him over the head with a vase and shove him in a closet. This place doesn’t lack for either.”

“You must have sounded very convincing, for him to obey. In my experience, Jonathan Carnahan is very persistent in certain areas.”

“Those areas being women, booze, and gambling, I’m sure.”

He chuckled. “Clearly, you’ve already taken his measure.”

“He’s been coming into the club for weeks. And he’s not so complicated that it took that long. Don’t get me wrong: Jonathan can be a nice guy. Wet and a bit useless, yeah, but nice. He at least understands boundaries. Which is more than can be said for most of the men I’ve encountered.”

“Is that why you came here for help?”

“Well, no—I came because I’ve heard plenty about his sister, from him and through the grapevine. I know she’s a big wig at the museum, and she’s traveled the world getting mixed up in crazy stuff. I figured if anyone could help me with that lamp, it’d be her.” Kath set her book aside on the table. “And where do you fit in?”

“I am merely an old friend of the family, visiting while I conclude work negotiating terms between my people and the English government.”

“Oh, is that all? So nothing important, then.” 

“As ever, I am merely a servant,” he said formally, inclining his head regally. “And for the time being, I am yours. If you have need of anything, you have only to ask.”

Kath flushed; good thing her complexion was dark enough to hide most blushing. She had plenty of experience with men—she was familiar with the leches, the charmers, the greaseballs and gangsters. And slighty wet limp noodles like Jonathan were especially plentiful here in England. But this Ardeth was something different; he looked like some handsome sheik from an especially torrid folktale and acted like King Arthur. How was a girl supposed to handle that?

“Thanks,” she mumbled finally, picking up her book and trying to ignore how her ears were burning. “I’ll do that.”

“And I’ll leave you to your book. Kath.”

Peeking over the edge of the pages, she watched him go and bit her bottom lip.

****

“Does it ever stop raining?” she asked dully, chin resting in her palm. She lifted her other hand to trace the line of a raindrop trickling down the windowpane.

“Would you prefer nothing but scorching sun, dry wind so powerful it peels flesh from bone, and heat that draws every ounce of moisture from you?”

She glanced over at him, sitting at a table with maps laid out and various strange, metal implements close at hand. “I prefer happy mediums. Suppose this is a nice change of pace for you, huh?”

“Not really,” he said. “I come to this dreary country and it takes me weeks to properly dry out again. And the shifting sands of the Sahara are not nearly as dangerous as the streets of London.”

“I find it hard to imagine anyone around here who would try to mess with you.”

“I am other. My skin, my robes, my tattoos brand me as strange and foreign. There will always be people ready to attack the other.”

“And what do you do?”

“I teach them how foolish such beliefs are. A scar or two can be a sobering reminder to think twice in the future.”

He spoke so calmly and practically, fully confident in his own capabilities and utterly unfazed by the close-minded violence in the hearts of others. 

“Well, I hope word gets around,” she said finally. “It’d be a shame if you ended up arrested for acting in self-dense. Cause the courts here ain’t exactly kind to the other, either. The white man’s word is usually as good as gold—ours is typically dismissed out of hand.”

“You speak as one who has been disappointed and wronged before.”

“I’m a woman in a man’s world. I’m black in a world where white is considered superior. And, right now, I’m American in a city that looks at Yankees as ill-bred heathens. Yeah, I’ve been disappointed and wronged before. Just try making your own way with those three strikes already against ya.” 

“My people are not perfect,” he said after a long, thoughtful pause. “But we value a person based on their merits and skill, not simply for the vagaries of their birth. In my tribe, we would honor you for your beautiful voice and power over words. You would be given the respect every great orator and magician should expect.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she simply turned back to the window, adjusting her legs on the window seat.

****

“It’s been _a week_ and I’m about to start climbing the walls!”

“Kitty, you really can’t go out,” Jonathan pleaded, blocking the doorway. “I was at the Topaz Peacock last night and I heard one of Greenstreet’s bully boys asking after you! They know Max stole the lamp—they know you had to’ve been the last person to see him alive—”

“Jonathan, I wasn’t joking about knocking you out with a vase—”

“What, and break one of my baby sister’s priceless antiques? You wouldn’t dare.”

“I’d reimburse her, even if it took me twenty years, because it’d be _worth it_.”

“I would never endorse the use of violence against a lady, but if you insist on walking out of this house, Kitty, I will fetch Alex’s homemade stun gun and test it out on you!”

“What is going on?” a voice boomed down the staircase. Ardeth stood at the top, brow creased and eyes glaring.

“Kitty’s determined to leave—”

“Only for a few hours! I’ve got to get out of here, see other people, do _something_.”

“And Greenstreet’s actively trying to hunt her down—tell her she can’t go, Ardeth. You’re more imposing than I am; she might listen to you.”

“This isn’t a prison! You can’t just keep me here against my will!”

“We can when you’re clearly not acting in your own best interest!”

“Kath, I’m afraid I cannot let you endanger yourself,” Ardeth agreed firmly. 

“And I can’t just hide here forever! Greenstreet will still be looking for me after his sister gets back—what then?”

“We will deal with that when the time comes. For now, you’ll remain here.” The look on his face brooked no argument.

“Ugh!” Kath threw her hands up and stomped away, slamming a couple doors for good measure.

“Would you have really used a stun gun on her?” Ardeth asked.

“Think I’m that brave?” Jonathan replied with an emphatic shake of his head. “…What would you have done if she kept insisting?”

“I would have thrown her over a shoulder and locked her in a room.”

“Cor, would you’ve really?”

“Yes.”

“You know, you remind me of Rick sometimes,” Jonathan said with audible admiration.

****

A knock at the door interrupted her scowling. “Yeah, what?” she demanded sharply. “If you’ve come with a peace offering, you can just shove it right up your—”

“You do not want to eat tonight? The cook made some sort of cheese and pasta dish. She said it is best when warm.”

She wanted to ignore him, but it was difficult to ignore the hollow ache in her stomach. And it would be harder to maintain her righteous indignation without any sustenance to fuel it. “Alright, fine, bring it in,” she allowed grudgingly, rolling one of the billiard balls across the green felted tabletop, which smacked against another with a satisfying _crack!_.

He set the tray down on the walnut table and busied himself with uncovering the dish and laying out the silverware. “I understand what it is to feel caged,” he said in a conversational tone. “To miss being where you belong.”

“It’s… not that. Not really. I just need a little spice. Some variety. If I’m stuck in one place for too long my feet get itchy. That’s how I ended up here—I got tired of Chicago, and then New York. Came overseas to see something new.”

“You have a wandering spirit,” he said. “I understand that, as well. My home, it is all of the Sahara. The dunes, the oases, the ruins and holy places. I live out of saddlebags, in tents and makeshift camps that disappear overnight. I embrace the temporary; I have the roots of my family history and my duty to keep me grounded.”

“You’re something else, you know that?” she said, sitting down. “These days, men don’t talk like that.”

“Then that is their mistake. Enjoy your meal, Kath.”

“Wait—you’re not joining me?”

“I thought you would prefer to be alone—”

“Then I’ll just sulk all night and go to bed out of sorts. Stay. Distract me from my cabin fever.”

“Very well. How shall I distract you?”

“Tell me more about your home—I’ve never seen the desert before.”

****

She rapped on the edge of the door frame. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No,” he said with a smile, looking up from his desk. “What is it?”

“I just beat the pants off Jonathan—not literally, metaphorically—at poker and now he’s gone to his room to balm his empty wallet with a bottle of brandy. I mean to say, he’s gone to drink a few in order to feel better after losing everything in his pockets—I may have had a couple drinks myself tonight, so I apologize if I’m not making much sense.”

“I am following you so far. And where do I fit in?”

“I’m still in the mood for another game or two. Wanna oblige me?” She held up a battered pack of cards and wiggled it enticingly. 

“I confess, I do not know how to play poker,” he said, laying down his pen. 

“No problem. I’ll teach ya.”

“And then rob me blind?”

“I’ll go easy on ya. Promise.”

After the third game, Kath brought the decanter of bourbon back with her to the table, tired of getting up to refill her glass. She swayed slightly as she sat back down, but the booze hadn’t impaired her playing in the slightest. A small mountain of money already rested at her elbow and she was quick to slide her cards over for reshuffling. 

“These cards are very worn,” Ardeth said. The edges were fraying and foxed; several were dotted with coffee stains. “I’m sure O’Connell keeps fresh decks in one of the drawers.”

“Nah, I only play with these,” she said firmly. “This is the lucky family deck.”

“Oh? How so?”

“My dad had these with him in the trenches. During the Great War. A friend gave them to him; said they’d been blessed by a witch. So long as he kept ahold of these cards, he’d get home safe. And he did. While everyone else was getting shot or poisoned with mustard gas or bombed to bits, my dad made it out in one piece. Came home and got married. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for these cards.”

Ardeth pulled a card at random from the deck. The Queen of Hearts. Her hair was white, elegantly coiffed in an old French way, dotted with pearls and red combs. She held a blooming rose in her hand. “And you have them now,” he said, the question unasked.

“Dad gave them to me when I left home. Said I needed a lucky talisman to keep me safe in my travels. Don’t you have a charm you keep with you?”

He nodded, selecting one of the chains draped around his neck, drawing up a medal with an eagle hieroglyphic engraving. “My mother’s medallion. I think it has served me well.”

“The life you lead, you need a dozen lucky charms,” Kath said. She tilted her glass, watching the amber liquid slosh inside. “Ardeth, what am I gonna do?”

“How do you mean?”

“I’ve almost definitely lost my gig at the Peacock. I can’t really go back to my apartment, so there goes everything I own. The police will probably want to have words with me, assuming Greenstreet doesn’t find me first. I’m homeless, jobless, and in a strange country, relying on the goodness of strangers, which makes me feel like an absolute heel. What the hell do I do?”

“I wish I could give you an answer, Kath,” he said. “But contrary to what Jonathan may think, I do not know everything.”

“Maybe those cards aren’t so lucky after all,” she said drowsily. “Or maybe Dad used up all of their luck.” She set the glass down. “…Maybe we better call it a night. I’m awful sleepy.”

Ardeth carefully wrapped the rubber band around the deck of cards and set them aside. Put the decanter back on the sideboard. And scooped the half-conscious Kath up from the chair she was sliding from. She mumbled, draping an arm around his neck, as they started up the staircase.

Jonathan cracked open his door as Ardeth walked past. “Everything alright?”

“Just fine. The bourbon has taken its toll,” Ardeth said. “Though I’m sure she’ll have a headache come the morning.”

He laid her gently onto her bed, drawing up the sheets and tucking them snugly around her. In repose, her face became doll-like—smooth and flawless, rounded and polished in the dim light of the bedside lamp. And while she was beautiful, he preferred her in motion, animated, with a bright spark in her brown eyes. When her lips were quirked, as if hiding a smile or repressing a laugh; he liked the way her mouth moved around her words.

“Ardeth,” she mumbled, shifting beneath the sheets.

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

“As I said before, Kath: I am at your service.”

He turned off the light and closed the door behind him, knowing it would be some time before he sought his own bed. He had too much to think on: chiefly, how to help a woman cast adrift and alone.

****

They were all eating dinner—Alex talking animatedly about his latest prototype in a way that made abundantly clear he was his mother’s son—when they heard the crash of breaking glass in the next room.

Ardeth was on his feet in the next instant, crossing over to the door. He caught a glimpse of a hulking man in a gray suit climbing through the broken window, gun in hand and a friend at his back, before he slammed the door shut and twisted the key in the lock. 

“Jonathan, take Alex and go through the kitchen,” he ordered brusquely. “Get Cook and go straight down to the basement. I know O’Connell keeps a hunting rifle down there—make sure it’s loaded.”

“Right-o,” Jonathan nodded, grabbing tight hold of his nephew’s arm. “C’mon, bucko, you heard the man.”

“Who is it? The mummy’s cult? Did Mum resurrect somebody again?” Alex demanded as he was fairly dragged along. “Uncle Jonathan, don’t tug so hard!”

“Lemme guess: Greenstreet’s boys,” Kath said dryly. “What do you want me to do?”

“Stay by my side. Do exactly as I tell you.” He held out his hand and she took it without hesitation, fingers tight around his as he led the way into the library. He went directly to the large glass display case, yanking open the door and grabbing the ceremonial dagger from its resting place. It wasn’t his sword, and was unfamiliar against his palm, but he would make do with what he had. “Can you fire a gun?”

“How hard can it be—you just cock the hammer and pull the trigger, right?”

“More or less.” He took one of the revolvers from the wall, checked to make sure it was loaded, and handed it to her. “They came armed; we cannot hesitate. Do you understand?”

“Absolutely.”

“It seems the universe has decided now is the time to handle one of your problems—and I will handle it. Come.”

He threw open the door with a tremendous bang, startling the man creeping past. The man spun, but not quickly enough; the dagger hissed through the air, slicing across the outstretched arm. With a frantic howl of pain, the man staggered back, the gun falling to the floor with a clatter before it was swept beneath a display case by Ardeth’s foot. “Stay down,” he told the man in a voice cold and sharp as broken ice. Wide-eyed and clutching at his bloodied arm, he nodded vehemently and shrank away.

“Up the stairs, quick,” Ardeth told Kath. “Make for my room.” Heart in her throat, she complied, wishing her heels didn’t clack so loudly against each step.

“Hold it!” a strange voice shouted. “Just give us the lamp and we’ll go!”

She was sure a bullet would hit her at any second but she refused to look back—looking back would only slow her down. She reached the head of the staircase and whipped quickly down the right hall. Over the railing, she saw a second man crumple with an aborted shout, Ardeth stepping over his prone body.

Excepting a glance from the doorway, Kath had never been inside his room before. The bed was immaculately made—she saw the reason for this when she stepped fully into the room. A pad of blankets lay on the floor next to the bed; feather mattresses must be too soft after a lifetime of sleeping on the sandy ground. And beside the blankets lay his sword and a long, curved dagger. She snatched them both up just as he darted through the doorway.

“Here,” she said, holding them out. “Now what?” 

“There is a back staircase through Jonathan’s room. From there it is a short distance to the garages. Do you know how to drive a car?”

“No, I don’t—do you?”

“Technically, no. O’Connell showed me the basics, though.”

“Oh, brilliant. Maybe we should regroup with Jonathan and Alex—have Jonathan drive us out of here.”

“Very well—take the staircase, go around the north corner of the house to the trapdoor for the coal chute—”

“Hang on, aren’t you coming with?”

“I must deal with the other men—there are three more inside.”

“I’m not leaving you here to fight my battles for me!”

“That is what I do! What I am! A guardian and protector.”

“If you’re staying, I’m staying.”

“Just moments ago you agreed to do as I said—”

“Not if you’re gonna tell me to leave, because that ain’t happening. I’ve got a gun—so let’s get to it.”

His glare of frustration was met by an unwavering stare of defiance; he finally looked away with a huff of frustration and started back out into the hall. 

At the end of which stood a man with a leveled gun. 

“Don’t move,” he said firmly, flashing a brittle smile. “Look, all we want is the lamp. Hand it over and that’s that. No harm done.”

There was a loud crash of something breaking. The man’s expression barely flickered. “Well, _mostly_ no harm done.”

“Hey, Harry!” someone shouted below. “There’s some real fancy canopic jars down here. Think the boss’d like ‘em?”

“Any damage you inflict upon my friends’ belongings, I will take the payment out of your skin,” Ardeth promised.

“You’re not exactly in a position to be making threats, mister,” the man replied. “The way I see it, I’ve got the gun. And you’ve just got that sword, which requires close quarters to be at all effective. And I sure as hell won’t let you get close enough to use it. Take one step, and I won’t hesitate to put you down. Now, just let the bird behind you go and fetch my boss’ property.”

“And what if I don’t have it?” Kath said angrily. From this angle, she was pretty sure the man didn’t see the gun in her hand, blocked as she was by Ardeth. Perhaps she could lift it and get a shot off before he could react…

“Then we’ve got a serious problem, sweetheart. Then I suppose you’ll have to come back with us and have a personal chat with the boss—perhaps you two can work out an arrangement where you can work off the debt owed.”

“She goes nowhere,” Ardeth said.

“That so? Then I guess I’ll have to kill you and take her by force.” He cocked the gun.

There was a sudden, sharp buzzing sound and the man shook as if in the throes of a seizure, the gun falling from his nerveless grip as his eyes rolled up to the whites. He slid to the floor twitching and spasming, fingers hooked into stiff claws.

“Wow!” Alex said proudly, staring down at the unconscious man. “Knew it would bloody work!” He lowered the strange gun in his arms that was currently smoking, the metallic wires dangling from the barrel shooting off intermittent sparks.

“What the hell?” Kath said.

“It’s my taser stun gun!” Alex explained. “Still a bit iffy on the current wattage—think it might be a bit too high, could cause permanent nerve or muscle damage—but this was a brilliant test run!”

“How in the world did you get up here?” Ardeth demanded.

“Secret passage from the cellar. The whole house is full of ‘em. Part of why Mum picked this place. Said it wasn’t a proper house if there weren’t secret rooms and stairways. C’mon, this way,” he waved for them to follow.

“Does one lead into the library?”

“Does one—of course one bloody well leads into the library. Haven’t you seen the old revolving bookcase trick?”

****

One moment they were gloating over their finds—Egyptian funerary masks and holy statuary, canopic jars and ancient jewelry laid out on velvet—the next there was a sword-swinging whirlwind in their midst, dressed in black with a thunderous, tattooed face.

The most frightening thing was how he seemed to come out of nowhere, without a creaking door or footstep to betray him. He looked like some avenging spirit from the desert, furious that his antiquities had been disturbed by thieving hands. They shrieked and dropped everything, clutched bleeding arms and hands, and ran straight for the front door.

Some jobs just aren’t worth it.

“That was awesome,” Alex said appreciatively. 

“And where is your uncle?” Ardeth demanded. “Jonathan may be something of a coward, but I find it hard to believe he let you—”

“Oh, he didn’t let anything. I slipped away while he was trying to calm down Cook. She was having a right hysterical fit, sobbing and shrieking about being murdered in her bed. I hope Mum and Dad get back soon, because I suspect we’ll need to hire a new cook.”

“So this lot’s been handled,” Kath said, heaving a sigh. “Who’s to say Greenstreet won’t send another batch, if he’s so certain I’m here with the lamp?”

“Then I will simply go to Mr. Greenstreet and make it clear how futile such future attempts would be.”

“Or…” Kath paused thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her lips.

“Or what?”

“You think I’ve got the power of words, yeah? Well, perhaps it’s time to test that theory.”

****

Phillip Greenstreet had two consuming passions: collecting antiquities and tending to his greenhouse. The latter was a holdover from a profession that his father had turned into the family fortune; he had come a long way from a greengrocer’s son.

He spritzed water onto an especially verdant lily, admiring the way the transparent beads trickled down the healthy leaves, and hummed a song he’d heard at the Topaz Peacock the previous night. The new girl wasn’t half so talented as the last one—nor half so pretty. A shame that lovely Kitty had been mixed up with that thief Max Walton; he took no pleasure in destroying beautiful things. But if she refused to be obliging, he would simply have to break that pretty face—

“Good evening, Mr. Greenstreet.”

He whirled around, spray bottle slipping from his grip. “Miss Brixton! How did you—”

“Your security isn’t all that, Mr. Greenstreet,” she said calmly. “My friend handled them quite easily.”

“And what are you doing here, Kitty? Come to bring me back my lamp?”

“Nope. That’s long gone by now. I don’t think someone like you should be trusted with something like that.” She caught his confused expression. “…And you don’t even know what it really was, do you? Well, thank God for small blessings.”

“My girl, what exactly are you going on about—”

“Just this: you will leave me alone, Phillip Greenstreet.” She thought of the panic and fear she’d felt the moment the djinn had appeared; she thought of attentive crowds hanging on her every note. She focused on what she wanted, _truly_ wanted, and poured that conviction into her words. “You will forget all about me, and about the lamp, and about my friends. In fact, you’ll forget about expanding your collection and robbing tombs. You’ll wake up in the morning with a blank slate of memory regarding the last few weeks, with the taste for antiquities now ash in your mouth.”

He stared at her, gaze unfocused and mouth hanging ajar. 

And then he turned away, bent to pick up his spray bottle, and resumed watering his plants. As if she wasn’t standing there any more. As if he had forgotten she even existed.

With a satisfied smile, she slipped out of the greenhouse. Ardeth was leaning beside the door, cleaning his sword with a rag.

“I hope you didn’t have to kill anyone,” she said.

“Just a few scars, to remind them to be more cautious in their employment choices in the future,” he said casually. “Is it done?”

“Yes. It’s done. Let’s go home.”

“Home is it?” he asked as they started down the road, to where Jonathan and Alex waited in Rick’s new car.

“Well, it’s home for now. Until my feet itch too much and I decide it’s time to pick up stakes.”

****

When Rick and Evy walked through the front door, both golden brown from sun and tired but generally pleased with life, it was to find Ardeth teaching Kath the basics of sword-fighting in the long front hallway. A pained squawk and echoing _boing-oing-oing_ of a dropped saucepan rang out from the kitchen.

“Hey there,” Rick said, setting his bag down. “Have things been quiet?”

“Mostly,” Ardeth said, sheathing his sword. “We did have a minor problem with Greenstreet, but it’s been handled.”

“Does that explain the boards over the windows?”

“And what exactly is going on in the kitchen?” Evy asked with a sniff, crinkling her nose. “Smells like something’s burning—”

“Mum! Dad!” Alex cannonballed into them, flour smudged across his face. “I didn’t do it—it was all Uncle Jonathan!”

“You bally traitor!” Jonathan accused before sticking his reddened thumb into his mouth. “I’ll have you know it was entirely your son’s idea—”

“I remembered how much you love Yorkshire pudding, Mum, and I wanted to surprise you when you got home—but Uncle Jonathan is the one who broke the stove!”

“Broke the—where on earth is Cook?”

“She quit. Said she didn’t want to work at a place where gunmen interrupted dinner.”

“I think we all need to sit down and discuss everything that’s happened—just as soon as I put out whatever fire is raging in the kitchen!” Evy shouted, sprinting as smoke billowed through the doorway. 

“Honestly, you two,” Rick said with a groan, jogging to catch up with his wife. “We leave you the house for a couple months…”

****

It was several hours later. The kitchen had been salvaged. Dinner had been cold cuts and cheese. Evy was on the phone with an employment agency. Rick was having a stern talking to with Alex and Jonathan—a talk that would no doubt be repeated once he saw the scrapes on the fender of his new car. And Ardeth and Kath had retreated to the garden and a quiet bench, glasses of lemonade in hand.

“So your work’s almost done at the Embassy,” she said in a conversational tone.

“Yes. I should be leaving by the end of the month.”

“Any idea when you’ll be back for a visit?”

“No. I do not expect it will be for some time; I miss the desert. And there will be much to discuss with the tribes. It could be months and months.”

“Then you should take this. For luck.” She pressed the deck of cards into his hand. “Since I can’t truly repay you for saving my life and, you know, risking bullets on my behalf.”

“I cannot accept—”

“Yeah, you can. So just shut up and take ‘em.”

“…Then I must offer something in return.” He drew the medallion over his head, reaching over and dropping it gently over hers.

“You said this was your mother’s—I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. So just shut up and take it.”

She grinned, her smile a dazzling slash of white in the darkness. “You know, when _you_ say it, it just sounds silly.”

They fell silent, staring up at the stars. Kath wondered if they looked completely different in the desert—perhaps some were bigger and others smaller, all of them brighter and clearer without the distant lights of London to fog the sky. Perhaps the sky itself was at a different angle, some constellations hidden away while others peeked up from the horizon. She wondered if it would be too lonely out among the dunes, or if the vast empty space would be a balm after the hectic press of the city. 

“Kath,” Ardeth said quietly. 

“Yes?”

“Would you like to come with me? See something new and different? Indulge your wandering spirit?”

“Think my feet have been itching for sand?”

“Perhaps.”

“I dunno—I hear the desert can be dangerous.”

“I will watch over you.”

“Because that’s what you do.”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Since I seem to be jobless and homeless right now.”

“People like us are never truly homeless. We are simply… Looking for a home.”

“I like that. I like that a lot.”

And she leaned closer, resting her head on his shoulder, smiling when his arm encircled her waist. It felt good.

It felt a lot like home.


End file.
